


Balanced On The Cliffs

by Anonymous



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Blow Jobs, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Established Relationship, F/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Nuns, Other, Trans Aziraphale (Good Omens), World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 11:13:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21196724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Written for the following prompt:please be patient with awkward phrasing in this prompt, it's all kind of.. ineffable.One of them is currently ID'ing as one gender, but in a corporation style traditionally associated with the other (Whether they can't alter the corporation for some reason and are dysphoric, or they simply don't see the need is up to you.)They have sex where they treat the genitals like those traditionally associated with the gender - i.e ,referring to outie genitals as clit and pussy or innie as cock and hole. They both believe this hard enough that the corporation starts to physically shift. (Whether this is a surprise or the plan all along, also up to you.)To which I added WWI and Crowley dressed as a nun. See notes at the end for further details.





	Balanced On The Cliffs

The thing was, right – the _thing was_, Crowley had a whole story written all about how Sister Ashtoreth's arrival at the hospital was a work of supreme evil, and how she'd only ever removed the boys' nightmares so they'd forget about the horrors of war and be more likely to reproduce it on a larger scale. How spreading pacifism amongst the people in town was raising sedition against the government. How making sure their opium stocks were always well-supplied was more likely to lead to addiction and dissolution. 

But the bugger of it all was that nobody ever asked. 

Probably too busy spreading their own misery over the Channel. Sister Ashtoreth had listened to the stories from the ones who couldn't sleep before she helped ease them down, and she found comfort in the idea that maybe all of this was being chivvied along by demonic forces, because the other options was that humans were doing all of this to each other because richer humans told them to. 

If they didn't need demons to tempt them to invent things like mustard gas, maybe they didn't need demons to tempt them to be evil at all. And if Hell found out about that, Crowley had no doubt they'd yank her faster than a grenade pin. So: everything being done was the work of Hell, and everything over there was ticking along Hellishly. 

The hospital, on the other hand, ticked along rather humanly, for the most part.

The other part arrived one Wednesday afternoon wearing spats, a waistcoat and a bow tie. 

“We're ever so grateful for all your support this year,” Sister Nyssa gushed outside in the hallway, “I don't know what we'd have done without you.” 

Sister Ashtoreth felt the grace creeping over her like a thick fog over the cliffs. The newer Sisters were like that, sometimes; confused about the difference between the holy and the occult. She took a couple of deep breaths and concentrated on rolling bandages. She'd be damne- she'd be blessed if they'd brought a priest in here. She's definitely and specifically told them about not bringing priests into her storeroom. They always buggered her right up, and never in the fun, friendly way you could expect of priests in the 13th century.

“Oh, Sister Ashtoreth,” Sister Nyssa said brightly, springing the door open, “this is our generous benefactor I was telling you about. Mr Fell, this is Sister Ashtoreth, one of our ward sisters.”

Well. At least it wasn't a priest. 

“Ah,” Mr Fell said quietly after a brief pause. “I think I may have misunderstood this convent's particular situation, as it were.” 

“Sister Nyssa,” Crowley said quickly, “I think you're needed elsewhere.” She didn't even need to specify where, exactly; Sister Nyssa, in her experience, was even more susceptible to suggestion than your average Satanic nun. 

As soon as she'd clicked the door shut behind her, Aziraphale spun to face Crowley. “What are you _doing_ here?” 

“Spreading discord,” Crowley replied, lazily shaking a little bottle of morphine. “Drug use, pacifism, et cetera.” 

“I'm – I'm not sure pacifism counts for your side, dear heart. Swords into ploughshares is rather one of ours. I do rather like the dress, though. It suits you.” 

Crowley wore her habit slightly more tightly than any of the other nuns, both Satanic and Anglican. She'd never been able to inspire lust in her patients (not that she tried – most of the poor bastards had too much to worry about quite apart from their immortal souls), but there were a few novitiates wondering if they ought to run away to London and join the Bloomsbury Group who wondered all the harder after seeing Sister Ashtoreth lean forward over the autoclave. 

“Oh?” Crowley asked, one hand on her hip, a smirk on her face, and all other body parts in the appropriate configurations to suggest that any vows she may or may not have taken were just as flexible as the rest of her. “Well, if I've been doing good this whole time, someone needs to do something wicked round here to make sure the humans still have their free will.” 

Mr Fell had played this game a few times before. He knew the rules. He grasped one of her arms when she went to turn away. 

“Of course there has to be a balance,” he murmured so seriously that Sister Astoreth almost starting laughing before she managed to disguise it as a gasp. 

She sunk to her knees and fiddled with the buttons on his fly. She kissed the pale hairs covering his stomach, chasing them down to the soft thatch – and little else – sitting between his thighs. It was an unusual aesthetic for him; Aziraphale usually preferred to make a much more substantial effort, and Crowley looked up, raising an eyebrow. 

“I was, ah, making friends with the nice ladies at the WSPU, and I thought, well, might as well go all in, as it were, see what it's like, but then,” he trailed off, looking miserable, cheeks rising pink. 

“Too may frivolous miracles,” Crowley finished. “Well, I've always been a fan of the Greeks.”

Aziraphale knew that was a lie, but it was a fond one, and he put a hand on her head, grasping at her scarf as she buried her face under his belly. 

His prick was small, smaller than Crowley had ever seen it before, and mostly hidden under its hood. She nuzzled and licked as it hardened, washing warmth against her lips. She could feel his thighs tremble underneath her hands when she kissed its tip.

When she sucked, Aziraphale gasped and bucked forward. 

“Bit more intense when it's Grecian,” Crowley guessed, grinning up at him, her lower lip shiny with spunk. One of her red curls had escaped its confines and Aziraphale was sure it was enough to make him weak at the knees if Crowley's mouth on his cock wasn't already doing just that. 

“Rather,” Aziraphale gasped in agreement. “You know, I did enjoy that night we spent in Eleusis.” 

Crowley knew exactly the night he was talking about: Aziraphale had rubbed up against Crowley's thighs, spending himself enough times that they'd been as smooth and wet as they were now under her habit. 

“Might need a bit more of an effort for that, angel,” Crowley murmured, and started sucking again. Blood swelled his prick until she could wrap her tongue round it; still less than a mouthful, but enough to be peeking out above his balls, which were getting heavier as he got harder. 

She stood up and pressed him against the table where she'd been wrapping bandages. With one hand stick on his prick, she used the other to raise her habit, and his hand was drawn to her cunt like a boat to harbour. She shuddered when he slipped a finger inside her and stepped closer towards him so he could reach up inside her. 

Crowley hissed when she rubbed herself up against his cock. It was harder and thicker than when they'd started, but still not quite enough so to fill her in the way she'd been hoping for. They'd have to do it the same way they'd done it in Eleusis, at least for a while; from the way Aziraphale had started panting benedictions, she suspected he'd have no problem whatsoever with that as a solution. 

“Oi, none of that while we're fucking.” 

Aziraphale put both hands to her face and pulled her into a kiss instead, tasting himself on her lips and tongue, which Crowley deemed to be an acceptable alternative. She pushed her scarf back, red hair falling dramatically over her shoulders and down her back. 

Crowley could feel Aziraphale rubbing against her folds and against her clit. It was close, but not quite enough, until she sank down on him – a definite advantage to being tall. His mouth opened as she felt him filling her, his prick welcome inside her, being drawn gently towards her. She squeezed, willing it in until she could feel Aziraphale growing to match her entirely. They rubbed up against each other, Aziraphale touching her face, Crowley pulling his hair, rocking together in celebration. 

With a cry, Aziraphale bucked forward and spilled inside her, filling her cunt with spunk. 

“Beautiful angel,” Crowley chanted stupidly as she rocked forward, chasing her own release, “love your cock insssside me, lovely Mr Fell, ssssso good to our convent.” 

Aziraphale, ever the gentleman, pushed two fingers up inside her when he withdrew and used his thumb to rub against her until she tightened and fell against him with a sigh. 

“Pretty sure that's balance restored,” Crowley said reluctantly as Aziraphale helped her fix her scarf and her habit. 

“Probably so,” Aziraphale agreed, “but I'm here for another day, and wouldn't it be sinful to let all your esteemed efforts go to waste?” 

Any nurse looking for bandages or medicines on Thursday found the storeroom out of use and their patients miraculously no longer needing them. Whether that was proof of a loving deity who wanted people to be well, or a great evil who wanted to encourage sloth, would depend on who, exactly, you were to ask.

**Author's Note:**

> Aziraphale is the one whose genitals change in this, and he's mostly just slightly awkward about his previous set rather than outright dysphoric. 
> 
> I tagged this as trans Aziraphale because that seemed like the most appropriate tag (and because AO3 doesn't have a "magically changing genitalia through the power of belief" tag), but if you're a trans man and feel that's inappropriate, please do let me know. 
> 
> Crowley has a cunt and is perfectly happy with it the whole way through. 
> 
> Fun fact! There was a war hospital on the cliffs of Brighton during WWI, and that's where this is set, but it didn't seem particularly relevant to the story.


End file.
